They stood in the dim living room, the afterglow of the moon still hanging between them in the quiet. Cain's gaze lingered on Lucifer's face, and for a fleeting second, in the play of the television's light, he saw Amelia's earnest expression superimposed over hers. He blinked, breaking the moment, and moved to grab the remote to turn off the TV they'd left on hours ago.
Lucifer's hand shot out, her fingers gently closing around his wrist. "Please, leave it active," she said. "I would like to observe the moving images and sounds from this device while you enter your rest cycle. That way, I can be occupied and will not startle you by mere observation when you wake."
Cain frowned. It seemed like a silly waste. Keeping the TV on all night would definitely nudge his electricity bill higher. But he looked at her face, illuminated by the shifting colors from the screen, her expression one of plain, hopeful curiosity.
"Alright," he said, relenting. He switched from the paused documentary to a movie streaming site. He navigated to one of his favorites, Interstellar, and hit play. The opening scene filled the room with the sound of a rattling cornfield and a distressed drone. He then quickly added a few more sci-fi and fantasy films to the queue, creating a makeshift marathon.
He handed her the remote. "Here. This controls the volume and if you want to skip something. Just… don't break it." He walked around the room, turning off the lamps, leaving the living room bathed only in the cool, flickering light of the television screen.
"I'll see you in the morning," he said, pausing in the doorway. "Have fun watching."
He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, the sounds of the movie's score fading behind him. Once inside, he sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, the day's events crashing over him in a silent wave. He looked at his nightstand drawer, then pulled it open. Inside, next to a worn paperback, was a small bottle of sleeping pills. He shook one out into his palm, then lay back, staring at the familiar cracks in the ceiling.
He reached for his phone on the charger. His thumb scrolled past countless contacts until it landed on one labeled "Dad." He tapped the call button.
The line rang once, twice, three times, then went to voicemail. The familiar, gruff recording of his father's voice told him to leave a message.
Cain exhaled, a long, slow breath that carried the weight of the day.
"Hey Dad, it's me. Cain." He paused, gathering his words. "I know you must be tired out there in the province. Don't overdo it, okay? You don't need to work so hard. Was the money I sent last week enough? Let me know if it isn't." He swallowed, his voice softening. "I had a… a really good day today, Dad. I met someone. She kind of reminds me of Amelia, in a way. My boss called earlier too. She might be rethinking firing me yesterday. Go figure, right?" He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "I hope you're taking care of yourself. I'll find another job soon, I promise. And I'm… I'm looking into getting some help. Like you said I should. Thank you. For everything. For being my dad. I love you. Merry Christmas."
He ended the call and placed the phone back on the nightstand. He closed his eyes, the sleeping pill beginning to pull him under. Just as consciousness slipped away, his phone screen lit up silently. A notification appeared: one new voicemail. Sent from his father.
On Earth, in a quiet house with a glowing television downstairs, the night was peaceful.
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Billions of light-years away, in a star system long since catalogued as dead by human telescopes, a planet hung in the void. It was a massive world, roughly twice the size of Earth, its surface a hellscape of crushing gravity and churning, metallic storms. The atmospheric pressure was so immense it would flatten a human warship into foil in an instant.
On this impossible ground, two figures stood facing each other.
One was brought to its knees. It was a being of shifting, nightmare geometry, its form barely holding a humanoid shape before dissolving into spikes and grasping tendrils. A viscous, purple substance that served as its blood poured from a cleanly severed arm, sizzling as it hit the super-dense ground. This was the Aspect of Atrocity.
The other stood tall, unbent by the gravity that could crush mountains. She wore ornate, silver-white armor that seemed to be forged from captured starlight. Six magnificent wings, blazing with pure, white-gold energy, were spread from her back. In her hand, she held a sword. It was not merely on fire; its blade was fire, a contained, righteous inferno that cast long, dancing shadows across the hellscape. This was the Archangel Michael.
She had dominated the battle utterly.
Michael took a slow, deliberate step forward, her armored boots leaving perfect impressions in the unyielding stone. She stopped before the kneeling Aspect, looking down at it. Her eyes glowed with a cold, celestial light.
"Any final words?" Her voice was clear, melodic, and carried an edge that could flay souls.
The Aspect of Atrocity lifted its malformed head. A sound like grinding tectonic plates escaped it, a horrible approximation of laughter. "Even if you erase me, the task is complete," it rasped, its voice echoing in Michael's mind. "We have located the Prime Universe you have sacrificed so much to conceal. Soon, The Beyond will awaken. It will devour every atom of the reality you strive to protect."
Michael listened. Then, she did something unexpected. She reached down with her free hand and cupped the Aspect's twisted chin, tilting its head up to look directly into her blazing eyes. And she laughed. It was not a chuckle, but a full, ringing, almost manic sound of genuine amusement, as if the creature had told the most delightful joke.
The Aspect recoiled, its confidence shaken by this blatant, terrifying disrespect.
"Laugh while you still can, angel," it spat.
Michael's laughter ceased instantly. Her expression shifted to one of absolute, glacial focus. Behind her, six more wings of pure, coruscating energy manifested, bringing the total to twelve. They unfurled like the banners of a divine army, each one radiating power that made the very fabric of space around her tremble.
She channeled that power into her sword. The flaming blade ignited with a new intensity, becoming a miniature sun held in her grasp. The heat it emitted was unimaginable. The super-dense ground for a kilometer in every direction began to glow, then melt, bubbling into lakes of incandescent lava that reflected the inferno in her hand.
"No," Michael corrected, her voice now a symphony of absolute power. "Not just an Angel."
She raised the sword high, its light drowning out the distant, dying stars.
"I am the Archangel Michael."
The Aspect of Atrocity had just enough time for its horrific features to twist into a mask of pure, cosmic dread.
Michael brought the sword down.
There was no dramatic clash. A line of pure, white light appeared, connecting the heavens to the hellscape. In the next instant, the body of the Aspect was split perfectly in half from crown to groin. The two sections slid apart and thudded to the molten ground, a flood of purple ichor vaporizing instantly in the heat. The attack did not stop with its target. The line of light continued, cutting deep into the planet's crust, severing it on a planetary scale.
The world began to die. The ground heaved and shattered. Tectonic plates the size of continents snapped. Michael rose smoothly into the air, her twelve wings carrying her effortlessly up through the disintegrating atmosphere. She hovered in the cold void of space and watched, her expression one of serene satisfaction, as the massive planet below was consumed by fire from within. Then, with a final, silent concussion of light, it exploded. A storm of planetary debris and glowing gas bloomed outward, a funeral pyre for a world and the horror it harbored.
Michael turned her back on the expanding cloud of destruction. She looked not towards Heaven, but in the direction of a small, blue-green speck, impossibly far away.
"Count your seconds, Lucifer," she whispered, the words lost to the vacuum but carrying the weight of a divine decree. "You are next."